


Autumn Comes When You're Not Yet Done With The Summer Passing By

by space_caramel_kaspbrak



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dyslexic JJ (Outer Banks), Growing Up, I'm Bad At Tagging, Internalized Homophobia, JJ had a tiny crush on John B at one point, Kid Fic, M/M, Pre-Canon, sort of a character analysis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25833343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_caramel_kaspbrak/pseuds/space_caramel_kaspbrak
Summary: JJ is from the tenderness of his mother's loving heart and the rough callouses on his father's hands. He is from the salty ocean water and the burning flames of campfires. He's from long nights and sore muscles, from North Carolina and no where else.JJ is from John B, and Pope, and Kiara, and the way he feels about all of them.(work title is from Mitski's Francis Forever)
Relationships: JJ/Pope (Outer Banks)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 58





	1. It's The Reason For My Pain, In a Season To Celebrate

**Author's Note:**

> this won't really be jj and pope centric until the next chapter. i'm expecting this to have either 4 or 5 chapters... i've never done a multi-chaptered fic before so just bear with me. i had a lot of fun exploring the pogues' lives as kids, and i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it!
> 
> there are some mild depictions of canon child abuse, but nothing more than what is shown in the show. i didn't really get deep into any details about it- in fact, it's mostly just mentioned in passing but i wanted to put it out there just in case!! also i did a little research about dyslexia in an attempt to portray it as accurately as i could. however, i don't have dyslexia and i don't personally know anyone who does, so if the representation i have written is inaccurate or offensive in any way, please let me know so that i can fix it and learn more about it!!
> 
> [here](https://pope-mayward.tumblr.com/) is my tumblr if you wanna hit me up there!
> 
> this chapter's title is from the song Why I'm Here by Oleander

* * *

JJ met John B on the playground in the third grade.

During recess, one could never fail to find John B up in the playground castle with the girls, teaching them how to scale the side of it so that they may sit atop the castle's peak (even though they weren't supposed to do that) or pushing them down the slide two at a time. 

Just as frequently, one could find JJ sitting by the wire fence that surrounded the playground because time had been subtracted from his recess. He usually had to sit out at recess because he had spoken out of turn during class one too many times, or he had not-so-cleverly stolen a glittery gel pen from one of John B's girl friend's pink pencil box when she wasn't looking. One day, however, he sat out because he had hit a boy with uncombed, jet-black hair and clusters of freckles square in the face-- his first fight. 

"What's that on your arm?" the boy had asked curiously, pointing to a large, blueish-purple colored mark that stained JJ's arm right above the elbow. "It looks like smashed blueberries."

JJ had wanted to bawl upon hearing those words. He knew what it looked like- all ugly and mean, a painful reminder of the night before, the color of a squished bug taking the shape of his father's fingers all the way around his skinny arm. 

JJ knew exactly what it looked like. 

He hadn't even said anything in return to the boy, which was unlike him because JJ always had something to say. He had just snapped, just shot his fist out without thinking and pulled it back to see the sight of red blood dripping from this boy's nose like a leaky faucet, a horrified expression across his face. He'd never hit anybody before, and he was taken aback by the power he had been able to put into it.

JJ had regretted it immediately. _Just like Dad_ , he had realized very quickly as he cradled his right hand, the knuckles throbbing at the joints, his fingers nearly numb. Just like Dad, indeed, because Dad, too, acted on his anger in violent ways without considering any consequences.

The bitter taste of tears burned the back of JJ's throat, made his tongue swell in his mouth like a balloon. He thought for sure that he was going to cry, but instead he had coughed- the little kid type of cough, all gross and germy- and blinked away the tears before they had the time to fall. 

But the other boy had cried-- in fact he had shrieked, reaching up to clutch at his nose with grubby fingers, and it had echoed in the dingy classroom, which in turn had notified the teacher. 

JJ had tugged his sleeve further down his arm and turned the bruise away from sight when the teacher came running over, cheap lanyard swaying back and forth wildly. She'd asked desperately for an explanation, looking from JJ to the dark-haired boy to JJ again. The boy was leaning toward the teacher with one of his hands outstretched, silently asking to be held. It made JJ feel awful (because JJ knew that move-- the one where you reached for someone like your mother when you were in a moment of surprising harm), and when the teacher had repeated herself, he had simply hung his head and turned to the side, refusing to speak. The other boy couldn't bring himself to say anything, presumably through the pain and shock, so the teacher had just shaken her head and walked him down to the nurse's office with a certain worry in her step.

When she returned, she decided that JJ's recess privileges would be revoked for a whole week. His father would also be receiving a call, which was what he was more worried about.

He was planning a shortcut home, sitting out at recess with legs crossed and palms squished against his cheeks, so that perhaps he could intervene the call that would be sent to his father, when he noticed a brown-haired boy standing in front of him. JJ looked up, and the sun seemed to make a halo around the boy's head. 

"Why did you hit Ethan?" the boy asked, hands shoved awkwardly in the pockets of his shorts. He didn't look angry, rather a concerned friend, even though JJ knew for a fact that this kid didn't really qualify as a friend to the boy he had hit- Ethan, apparently.

"None of your business," JJ answered sharply. He put on a sour face, his eyebrows furrowed together in mock anger, his lips pursed. 

"Why won't you tell anyone?" the boy continued, serious gaze not wavering, because JJ hadn't explained himself to the teacher, and he had refused to even speak a word to the principal when he was called to the hallway. "Ethan's not mean, so why'd you hit him?"

JJ looked away, over at where all the teachers stood together during the half hour recesses. None of them were looking at JJ or the boy in front of him, but it wouldn't be long before one of them did. JJ had a half-habit of running off from his recess-time-out spot, so all the third grade teachers knew to keep an eye on him. 

"You'll have to sit out too if they catch you talking to me," JJ said, averting the conversation in hopes that this kid would leave him alone. 

JJ turned and stared at him. It was a common thing for kids to sit and wait with their friend if they had to sit out, a sign of camaraderie and togetherness, a little kid version of sticking it to the man. No one had ever sat out with JJ before.

"Why did you hit him?"

JJ sighed. "You promise not to tell anyone?"

The boy nodded, and leaned forward to give JJ his full attention. 

"Ethan asked me about this," JJ explained, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. The boy beside him didn't say anything, but JJ did notice his body tense up. When he reached forward with delicate fingers to touch the bruised area, JJ thought that maybe he should pull away, but he didn't. 

"That's why you punched him in the face?" the boy asked, carefully retreating his hand. 

JJ nodded his head. He wondered, for a brief moment, if explaining himself more would put him into deeper trouble, but this boy had made a promise. And why shouldn't JJ trust him? He was the only person to ever sit with him during recess after all. "My dad did this," he said, gesturing to his arm. He looked up at the boy's face to gauge his reaction. The boy didn't look traitorous, nor did he seem like a tattle-tell. "He told me not to tell anyone."

"Oh," the boy said, leaning back against the fence to put some breathing room between them. It was clear he was absorbing this new information, and it was even more clear that he'd never known someone who was beat at home. "I'm John B," he said suddenly, knocking his shoulder goodnaturedly against JJ's.

"I'm JJ."

 _I know_ , John B wanted to say, but didn't because he thought it would be rather impolite. _All my friends talk about you._

"Cool," he said, standing back up and motioning toward the playground castle where all the girls from John B's class were leaning out of the plastic window to watch him, "I told them I'd jump off the top." 

JJ gave him a smile, eyes squinting against the bright sun. "Cool," he parroted back to John B. 

And then John B had run off toward the castle, button-up shirt hanging loose and dirty around his small frame.

The two of them had become quite inseparable after that point. They began to sit together on the bus ride home, and JJ had started playing with John B and all the girls that followed him around during recess. On most Saturdays, JJ would ride his bike to John B's house after he finished his weekend chores, playing cards loud in the spokes as he pedaled as fast as he could. They would fish together out behind the Chateau, and race their bikes together down dirt roads, and swim together, and take out the boat together with the help of John B's father.

John B's father was a certain type of paternal figure that JJ had never encountered before- not that he had encountered many fathers before considering he never had any friends' houses to go to. He insisted on JJ calling him Big John just like everyone else did, although referring to him by that to his face always made JJ feel slightly uneasy, like calling your teacher by their first name, or something like that.

Big John would sometimes play pirates with them in the backyard, a long stick in his hand acting as his sword and his baseball cap turned sideways on his head in a vague attempt to resemble a pirate's hat. When Spongebob came on in the afternoons, Big John would give them the remote and let them turn the volume up as loud as they wanted. The kitchen was free range, Big John had told JJ once, as long as you didn't take more than you could eat. 

These were all things that wouldn't go unpunished at JJ's own house, as he quickly learned. 

"Dad, where's the milk?" JJ had asked once after spending the weekend at John B's house. The cereal had already been poured carefully into a white ceramic bowl, a spoon sitting beside it on the counter. 

JJ could feel the sudden mood-shift before his father had even stepped foot in the room. He straightened himself, turned away from the fridge to watch his father walk toward him.

"Put this mess up," he demanded after noticing the cereal, "You know you only eat what I put on your plate." 

JJ had dropped his hopeful smile, gaze turned low, and closed the refrigerator door. His father knocked him on the back of the head as he went to put up the cereal. It wasn't hard, but it was with enough force to send little spikes of pain into his brain as his head fell forward. 

"Big John lets us have cereal when we're hungry," JJ had said bravely, perhaps a little too much so.

His father stopped in his tracks, hand gripping the door frame of the kitchen. JJ knew his father was restraining himself from doing something bigger. His knuckles were ash white. "I'm not Big John," he said lowly, using the tone of voice that told JJ not to say anything else, "Now put the cereal away." 

JJ did as he was told. He never again ate food outside of the three meals his father gave him, unless he was at John B's house. 

By the beginning of fourth grade, JJ had officially labelled John B his best friend.

There wasn't some fancy ceremony where he had announced to everyone that John B was his best friend and no one else's-- although he had very much wanted that because it seemed that more often than not, JJ was fighting for John B's attention in the sea of other school children trying desperately to gain a few moments of the boy's focus for themselves, just as JJ did with his own father at home. The only difference with his father was that he wasn't fighting other children; in fact, JJ wasn't fighting anyone for his father's attention except his father himself. 

Nonetheless, JJ did think of John B as his best friend. He could tell John B anything and trust that it would be kept a secret between the two of them. He had fun while he was with John B, whatever it may have been that they were doing. John B never asked about his bruises, or teased him for his dirty clothes like the other kids at school did. They had even created a handshake that was all their own. So how could JJ _not_ think of John B as his best friend? 

He began to refer to John B as such, and in turn, John B did the same to him. 

It was exhilarating to have a best friend. JJ had never had one before, and he'd never before known what he had been missing out on.

Things at school got better for JJ after this. Rather than avoid him, JJ's classmates began to invite him to their games of tag and their lines of red rover and their floor circles of inside recess. They seemed to no longer care that he was reading slower than the rest of them, or that his tennis shoes were noticeably getting too small, or that sometimes he would be in a seemingly unshakable bad mood. It was like being best friends with John B made everyone like him, and JJ had simply added it to the list of good things that had happened because of John B. 

His peers began to find him funny and a good playmate. Some of the girls that used to tag along behind John B had become dedicated admirers of JJ's instead. 

"I think Isabella likes you," John B whispered in his ear at recess when they were alone once, pointing across the playground to where the dark haired girl was walking with her friends. 

JJ followed his finger and looked at her too. "Really?" he asked, although JJ thought that John B was just saying that because he wanted to talk about her. Indeed, it seemed to him that John B brought her up quite a lot, usually to suggest that JJ 'ask her out', but JJ got the idea that John B himself had a crush on her and just didn't know how to go about it.

"Yeah," John B answered, grinning at JJ.

JJ smiled back at him, and blushed when John B refused to look away.

"I don't think so," JJ replied. He flinched when John B threw out his arm in Isabella's direction again.

"She's looking at you, dude!" John B said, a little too loudly for his liking. 

When JJ turned to see, she was in fact looking at him. John B had run off toward her, presumably to pester her into giving him any clues that may be evidence enough to prove to JJ that she was crushing on him. JJ didn't follow him for a moment, though, just stood still, unable to move until finally his mind was caught up with him and his legs were carrying himself after John B.

Things at school got better for JJ, but things at home got worse.

His mother's mother had died unexpectedly around New Year's and it had put quite a damper on the already tensing situation at home. 

The funeral wasn't as bad as little JJ had thought it would have been, but it was awkward and sad, and the rented black suit his mother made him wear was itchy and too tight around his neck. The worst of it was when they were out in the cemetery, and he cried while his grandmother's casket was lowered into the ground. 

When his mom noticed, she had handed her purse over to Luke and leaned down to pick JJ up and hold him. He hid his face against the skin of his mother's cold neck and held on tightly even though her bulky necklace was uncomfortable on his cheek. His mother hadn't picked him up like that in years, but she made up for it by kissing his head and telling him that it would be alright.

JJ could feel his father's eyes on them, and somehow he knew that his parents would be arguing about it when they got home.

His intuition had been correct, and that fight seemed to set off a chain reaction for whatever reason. His parents started arguing on a regular basis. His father had begun to raise his voice more often at little things that he ordinarily wouldn't have raised his voice over. He started to request things of JJ that he had never requested before, like telling him to mow the lawn or sending him to the store alone to pick up a few forgotten groceries (sometimes without money, which, if he had to guess, was where he picked up his thievery habits).

His mother stood up for JJ when Luke would go too far and demand unreasonable things. 

"Luke, he's a ten year old kid! Let him go play with his friends!" she had said loudly when his father had decided to not let JJ out after school, "That's what ten year old boys _do_."

Usually, his father would back down when his mother snapped at him about being easier on JJ, but he almost never let up when he was arguing with her about money or his addictions. 

One night, when the fight had been particularly bad, JJ had hid in his room. He jumped when he heard the front door slam shut and stared intently at his own bedroom door waiting for something to happen. 

His mother came in a few moments later, with no tears on her face. It wasn't uncommon for her to keep a composure during her arguments with Luke, but JJ was always surprised when she was able to not break down in tears after his father yelled such harsh things at her.

"Hi, baby," she had greeted, sitting on the bed beside JJ. 

"Hi," JJ said, leaning toward her when she reached out to stroke his hair. His anxieties seemed suddenly nonexistent. 

"What would you like for dinner?" she asked sweetly, "It's just me and you tonight. Your dad's going out somewhere, so we can have whatever you'd like."

JJ smiled, tapped his chin playfully in thought. "Pasketti and meatballs."

"Mmm, good choice," she replied, shifting to look at a colored piece of paper sitting on the table beside JJ's bed. "What's this?"

"A drawing," JJ answered, picking up the paper and putting it in his mother's patient hands. "That's me," he said, pointing to one of the stick figures, and then the other, "And that's John B."

"Oh, I can see the resemblance," she said smiling, tracing her own fingers over the crayon markings. "You like John B?"

"Yeah. He's my best friend," JJ answered happily.

She returned the picture to JJ's nightstand and mussed his hair, a slight showing of worry etched into her expression. "Cool beans," she said, "Wash your hands and you can help me make the meatballs."

His father had stayed out the entire night, and most of the next day too. When he returned, both of his parents refused to acknowledge the tension that was left hanging around in the air.

At the end of fourth grade, JJ's mother had left. 

It had been culminating, JJ was certain of it, because most nights he was awakened by his mother and father arguing. He would manage to fall back asleep eventually, and usually by the next morning, his parents would either be in quite chipper moods or they would both be oddly passive aggressive with their silence. JJ never completely understood it. He supposed that it was just an adult thing-- he just hoped that he would never be that type of adult. 

JJ came home from school one day and his father was no where to be seen, which was unusual. Luke was always there when JJ got home after school, typically working on the kitchen sink or in the backyard with his head under the hood of a car. 

His mother wasn't there either, but there was a note on the coffee table in the living room written in her pretty, looped handwriting. With a little trouble, because the letters seemed to jump around the page, JJ had been able to read it.

_Luke,_

_I'm going to stay with my sister in Illinois for now. I don't know when I'll be back. I think some time apart will do us both some good._

_As for JJ, please look after him. He's still a little boy, he needs his father to be there to teach him the ropes. Things will get hard for him sometimes, but be easy on him, Luke. He looks up to you more than you know. Tell him that I love him._

_Until next time,_

_Clara_

JJ folded the note back up and returned it to the table just as he had found it. The note wasn't for his wandering eyes, so he thought it would be best if his father didn't know he had read it. 

While he sat at the kitchen table and tried his luck on his homework, he wondered how soon his mother would be returning. She had never left like this before, but JJ was positive that she would come home by the week's end. He wondered what she meant by saying that things will get hard for him, wondered if maybe she knew something about himself that he didn't. 

_Tell him that I love him_ , she had written. 

It sounded a lot more like a true, honest-to-God goodbye. 

_I love him._

JJ smiled, cheeks pink. He wasn't able to finish his homework.

It had been almost two whole weeks since JJ had read the note before he realized that she might not be coming back at all. He had hardly seen his father during that time because he was out doing 'adult things', as Luke had put it. He gave no further description of his whereabouts or his happenings. 

It was always quiet in the mornings because Luke wasn't there, and neither was his mother. It was quiet when JJ got home from school because Luke wasn't there, and neither was his mother. It was quiet when JJ sat at the kitchen table and tried (really tried hard, because it seemed to him that his reading skills were fading somehow) to do his homework in the afternoons. 

That's about the time that Luke would come loudly through the front door, boots thumping on the hardwood floor. JJ could tell that he was drunk even though Luke had never really been drunk around him before. He would have his after-dinner beer or two every day, but that was the extent of it until his mother left. 

Sometimes Luke would bring home fast food, and sometimes he would come home with an arm-full of grocery bags that would contain ingredients JJ had to put together himself. His father never seemed to be hungry anymore, or at least he never was in the presence of his son. It was usually boxed macaroni and cheese, or frozen dinners that he cooked in the microwave because he wasn't old enough to use the stove yet, or white bread and bologna slices. 

JJ would go to sleep at night to the sound of Luke watching TV in the living room or shuffling around in the kitchen, but when he woke up the next morning, he was never there. 

His mother's note was still on the coffee table. It didn't even look like it had been touched since JJ had read it, so he developed an idea: take the note for himself, so that perhaps he could have the last artifact of his mother's person. After hiding the note for two days in a shoe box under his bed, his father hadn't said a word about it, nor did he seem to even be curious about its location. Surely his father had read it though, because he had never left JJ alone like that before his mother left, had never made him prepare his own meals like that before his mother left. 

Fifteen days after his mother had left, Luke hadn't come home at all that night. JJ was worried, eyes wide with something akin to fear as he laid under the covers at his bedtime like he was supposed to. When he checked the glowing fish clock on his wall at 12:30, he decided to go to John B's house, his mother's note tucked neatly into the pocket of his shorts.

He knocked on the front door when he arrived because he didn't know if he should try climbing in John B's bedroom window like he had seen on television. Big John was the one to open the door, eyes tired behind smudged glasses. He looked like he hadn't been sleeping well. 

With a worried twitch of his smile, Big John stepped aside and let JJ in. The Chateau looked pretty trashed, what with thick textbooks laid open on a table that had been pulled in from one of the back rooms and maps with messy scribbles tacked up on the walls and half-eaten takeout boxes strewn across the room.

"Sorry about the mess, kid," Big John had chuckled in his husky, tired voice. "What brings you here this late?"

Without missing a beat, because he hadn't thought anything of it, JJ answered: "My dad didn't come home tonight. I didn't know what else to do."

There was an awkward moment where Big John was silent and unmoving and JJ didn't know what to do with his hands or his eyes or his feet. So he shuffled in place, stared up at Big John and waited for him to tell him what to do. 

"Uh..." Big John said, scratching the back of his head. "That's okay. You can stay the night here. John B's asleep in his room but you can sleep in there if you'd like."

JJ nodded, smiled gratefully at Big John. "Thank you," he said, turning with his hands tucked behind his back to go to John B's room. 

The door was closed and the room was dark, but John B was not asleep. Instead, he was sitting up and staring expectantly at the door.

"Hi," John B had said.

"Hi," JJ repeated, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. 

"What are you doing here?"

"Spending the night," JJ said, stumbling in the dark toward John B's bed until John B reaches over and turns on the lamp beside his bed-- the one that casts spaceships of light on the ceiling. "My dad never came home."

"Oh," John B replied, jumping out of bed to throw a fake punch JJ's way and run over to his dresser to pull out an extra set of his pajamas. "Here you go."

In the bathroom, JJ put the pajamas on and then he pulled out the stool to look at himself in the mirror. His father hadn't hit him since before his mother left so there were no bruises on his body except for the one on his left arm that he got from slapping it against one of the playground castle pole's at recess. He looked sleepy though, even JJ could see that. 

His mother's note sticking out of his shorts' pocket caught his eye, and he took it out. He read it again, faster than the first time because he had spent a long time looking at this letter, rereading it, trying to engrave his mother's words into his brain so that perhaps her beautiful handwriting would be what he saw every time he closed his eyes. 

_Tell him that I love him_ , his mother had written, something that he never really remembered his father ever saying to him. 

He folded it back up, put it in the pocket that it belonged, and rubbed his eyes until the skin around was red and raw. 

He put the stool back under the sink, and quietly returned to John B's room even though the lights in the kitchen and living room were still on and JJ could hear Big John mumbling something. 

John B was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting patiently for JJ to come back. JJ sat down beside him after he had thrown his day clothes in the floor.

"Where's your mom, John B?" JJ asked suddenly, whipping his head to the side to look at him.

John B didn't look upset like JJ thought he might. Instead, he just shrugged. "Daddy says she left when I was still a baby," he answered, looking back at JJ, "I don't remember her."

"Oh," JJ replied, huffing out a sigh because that wasn't the answer he was expecting. There was something burning at the back of his throat that made it difficult to swallow. "I think my mom left too." His eyes were suddenly wet.

John B didn't say anything, just threw his arm around JJ's shoulders when he noticed the tears on JJ's face. And it's all JJ needed really, because he had never been one to just openly say things about his home life or his father or his mother. 

When he was done crying, JJ rubbed his eyes and John B kept his arm around his shoulders. JJ stared at him for a moment, and then, with a sudden burst of gratitude, leaned up and planted a childish kiss on John B's cheek.

John B laughed, although it sounded more like a chuckle that adults liked to use sometimes, and patted JJ once, twice before lifting his arm and settling himself under the covers. 

It seemed that John B was growing up a little bit faster than JJ was. It made JJ feel stupid for kissing him on the cheek, like perhaps he shouldn't have done it at all. He waited for a moment before getting under the covers too, chest tight and eyes dry like he might have to cry again. 

But he didn't, and when he laid down beside John B, the blankets were warm and the pillow was soft.


	2. You'll Never See The End of The Road While You're Travelling With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for the two week wait lmao. i was having so much trouble finding a decent way to end this chapter and i still don't know if this one is good enough
> 
> our fave Pope Heyward is in this one, babey. i hope his amazingness shines through in my writing. i don't wanna do him dirty. enjoy!!
> 
> this chapter's title is from Don't Dream It's Over by Crowded House

* * *

JJ met Pope in the hallway in the 7th grade.

It was early August and school had just recently reopened, the heat outside still sweltering with summertime strength. 

JJ's popularity had followed him into middle school, but his reputation had been altered because in the 6th grade, he started to get into fights more frequently than the average 12 year old. His fights turned into suspensions, and suspensions turned to lingering rumors while he was away. Returning to school after a week-long suspension was like returning to a birthday party gone rogue after a bathroom break. Girls with chokers and heavy eye makeup would approach him coolly and ask him for dope that he didn't have; boys with sports' jerseys and backwards-facing caps would clap him on the back and congratulate him for things that he had never done; girls with sleek ponytails that had previously stuck to him like glue now avoided him like the plague. 

JJ never really understood all the rumors that had been spread about him. No, he never carried a loaded gun in his backpack to hold up the drug store down the street after school. Of course not. Why would anyone believe that?

But plenty of his peers had indeed believed it, among other preposterous accusations that JJ eventually tired of attempting to disband. At some point, he just stopped putting up a fight. _Let them believe what they want about me_ , he had decided. 

Just about the same time, he had certifiably been dubbed the designated Bad Kid at Kildare County Middle School. Which is why everyone was so shocked when he stood up for the new black kid because some 8th grade boy had been harassing him.

"Dude, fuck _off_ ," JJ had said loudly over the rush of other students in the crowded hall. It was over halfway through the day, and JJ had already had a less than satisfactory day (one of his teachers had threatened to call his father if he didn't stop interrupting class; this was a scare tactic that JJ hated, but, he had to admit, it worked nearly every time, despite the embarrassment he had to swallow when he sat back down in his seat and clamped his mouth shut). He was kind of in a pissy mood.

The new kid had looked over at JJ as soon as he said it, an expression of mortification ran across his face saying _why are you risking yourself for me?_ JJ thought that maybe he straightened his posture too, thrown his shoulders back and puffed out his chest confidently as if JJ's words had put a bit of bravery into him, but he couldn't be sure through the mob of passing of children.

JJ had stopped walking, and in turn, John B, who had been shoulder to shoulder with JJ, did too on instinct. An angry line was starting to form behind them, shouting for them to keep it moving. But JJ stood his ground.

"Leave him the fuck alone, man," JJ said, raising his voice because apparently this guy hadn't heard him the first time. He stepped forward, cutting off a girl he knew from his science class in the process, and yanked the 8th grade boy away by his shoulder. "He just got here. He doesn't have any beef with you."

The boy- a decently tall fellow with swooping blond hair and red cheeks- gave him a confused look before replacing it with anger. "You'd be better off if you minded your own business," he said, stepping forward. It made JJ realize how much taller the other boy was.

" _You'd_ be better off if you went to class," JJ replied, furrowing his eyebrows. The people around them had come to a near stand-still except for the slow-moving line of book-heavy kids passing the scene through a tight passage by the lockers. "You aren't even supposed to be in this hallway."

"I really think you should mind your own business, man," the boy said pointedly. JJ thought for a moment (perhaps he should just shrug it off and walk away-- he's already on thin ice with the guidance counselor and another fight would surely put him in some deep shit), shifted his gaze past the tall boy to look at the new kid, who was already staring at him with a curious expression. His arms were stacked with notebooks and textbooks and loose papers, and his dark eyes were wide behind a pair of blue-rimmed glasses. 

"JJ, let's just go," John B had told him, tugging on his elbow in hopes of getting him to forget about it. Had it been the fifth grade, John B would have waited eagerly for the fight to break out and for the ring of kids to circle around him chanting. The first few fights JJ got into had been fascinating and, quite frankly, very thrilling for John B to watch (and even in some cases, jump in and throw a punch or two), but like most things, it got old after a while. Watching JJ butt heads and pick fights all the time was like watching a young child repeatedly show you the same page in a book as if you hadn't seen it a hundred times already.

JJ shook his head and pulled his arm away from John B's grip. 

"Oh, yeah. What are you gonna do, fight me?" the boy asked, mouth quirked in an arrogant smile.

JJ flashed him a grin, wanting to laugh at the irony, and pulled his fist back, then launched it forward. By the time he heard the thud of the impact, the crowd around them was gasping and the boy was wobbling, eyes rolling in disorientation. It was dead silent for all of two seconds before the kids erupted in shouts and yells, pushing each other out of the way so they could see the action. 

And then, pumped full of adrenaline, the 8th grader slung his fist at JJ sloppily, and hissed at the pain in his hand when he pulled it back. It hurt his face a bit, but, JJ noticed, it could have hurt a lot more. This guy had clearly never been in a fight before.

"JJ! Holy shit," he heard John B shout. He assumed that it was John B's hand on his shoulder, but he couldn't be sure because of his tunnel vision.

JJ ripped away from John B's grip and hit the 8th grade boy again, hard, right on the jaw. 

"Aw, _fuck_ ," he yelled, clutching his face and rocking backwards. The new kid moved out of the way a mere second before the 8th grader fell against the lockers.

JJ stepped forward, ready to throw another punch, but a solid hand yanked him away violently by the back of his shirt- a teacher, Mr Hayes, itching to get JJ to the office.

As Mr Hayes was hauling him through the crowd, JJ stole a glance at the new kid and flashed him a bright, toothy grin to which the boy responded with an awestruck expression and a dorky wave of his hand before being swallowed up by the lapping waves of the sea of students.

JJ was sentenced to a week in ISS (which is in school suspension, because the last time JJ was sent home on suspension, he hadn't done any of the required school work), but there was a strange, nagging feeling in the back of his mind. Usually he didn't mind suspension because he was away from the distractions of the classrooms and could focus on what was in front of him, even if he didn't particularly enjoy the work. During this suspension, however, he couldn't wait to get back and see the new kid in the hallway again.

The school had called home, and when JJ got there, his father was sitting on the couch, waiting for him. The slap on his face stung almost unbearably and the bruise on his wrist was difficult to cover up, but, with the lingering image of the boy waving at him fresh in his mind, JJ was certain that it was worth it.

The following Wednesday was JJ's first day back. He scoped the hallway all morning before 1st block, pacing up and down the spotted tiles until he caught sight of the solitary boy he had rescued last week.

"Hey!" JJ shouted from the end of the hall, ears perked at the sight of him.

The boy had stopped suddenly, frozen in his tracks. _Me?_ he mouthed, pointing towards his chest.

JJ had let out a sigh of relief. "Yeah, you," he said, making his way up the hallway at quite a fast pace. He smiled when he got to him, eyes sparkling. "Has that guy been messing with you anymore?"

"Are you my bodyguard now or something?" the kid asked pointedly, eyebrows quirked.

JJ barked out a laugh. He hadn't been expecting an attitude from such a quiet kid. "No, I'm just checking," he answered, "Why? Should I be?"

"No. I'm fine," he said. He shuffled for a moment, adjusted the mountain of items he held in his arms: a library book, two textbooks, and four brightly colored notebooks, each specially assigned to a class. "I'm Pope Heyward."

"JJ," he replied. 

"I went to school here last year," Pope said, to which JJ furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Last week. You said I was new, but I'm not."

"Oh," JJ said, face suddenly burning. He looked down at his dirt-caked tennis shoes, and then, self-consciously, kicked his foot back and forth. "Sorry. I thought you were."

"It's okay," Pope assured, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He'd seen JJ around school before- had even seen him walking down the street outside his father's seafood shop a few times- so, naturally, he'd heard things about him and his family. "I need to go."

"Okay," JJ said, standing completely still to watch him enter his classroom, "Bye."

After that, it took no time at all for JJ and Pope to become attached at the hip, not venturing more than a few feet from each other when they were in the other's presence, as if there were some magnetic force tethering them together.

At first, Pope had thought JJ to be quite a distraction, like the annoying kids in his class that wouldn't shut up long enough for the teacher to explain the homework. Pope quickly found that JJ was indeed an annoying kid, but in some strange way that he couldn't exactly explain yet, Pope also found it to be quite endearing. Had it been any other kid, Pope was very certain that he would have strangled him within the first few days of knowing him.

JJ had taken a liking to him immediately though. It had crossed his mind that maybe Pope was taking John B's best friend title (which he had held for four solid years), and he worried about it to some extent, but it seemed that the thought, if it had entered his mind at all, was of no grand importance to John B. Perhaps, though, John B was confident that no one could take his well-earned place as JJ's best friend because John B never appeared to be too thrilled about hanging around Pope, as if Pope wasn't as fun or as exciting as he was.

JJ supposed that it was because the two of them didn't hold much in common. Pope liked things that John B had no taste for- things like collecting broken seashells and listening to Michael Jackson and reading for fun. Similarly to John B, JJ had not previously participated in a lot of these things. Rather, he had enjoyed a decent amount of the same things John B liked until he met Pope.

John B had mentioned it once or twice, questioning as to why JJ was suddenly so interested in dead frogs and shriveled fish and what happens to your brain when you die.

"The only time I change my interests like that is when I'm trying to impress a girl," John B had told him once when they were fishing out on the dock by the Chateau, "But Pope's a boy."

JJ shrugged. "I don't know. I just think that stuff's cool now," he'd said, ignoring the look John B was giving him and reeling in his fishing line. John B's comment had always stuck with him though, because JJ had a tendency to cling to every word John B said. 

_Was_ he trying to impress Pope? Perhaps he was, but in one way, John B was right: Pope was a boy, and boys didn't fancy other boys. Everyone knew that. Pope's interests were cool anyway, so what did it matter?

The kids at school were even more skeptical of JJ's befriending Pope than John B was. Pope had a reputation as the school nerd that not very many people initiated conversation with- not exactly the 'weird kid', but the guy that no one talked to unless they wanted answers to the math homework (Pope hardly ever gave away answers, and the few times he did, he intentionally gave them wrong answers. When JJ discovered this fact, he'd told Pope how proud he was of him over and over again, an unshakable grin plastered on his face). On the other hand, JJ was the bad kid that knew a lot of people but didn't really have close friends, except for John B. JJ was close with Pope though- physically and figuratively. Their peers were so astonished by how different the two of them were that it had slipped their minds how much they complemented each other.

But JJ never understood why the kids at school didn't like Pope, because JJ found that Pope Heyward was very possibly the most exciting, interesting person to be in company with. He was clever, and he was funny, and he knew how to meld those two together adequately, much to JJ's pleasure. He was pretty too, and JJ was positive that if the girls at school had given him a chance, he would have been desired just as much as John B.

While John B's popularity grew, JJ's grades sunk, specifically in English and math. His grades were never pizza party worthy (nor were they worthy of any other strange, glorified rituals that the smart kids with consistent A's and B's were rewarded with), but 7th grade had proved to be more difficult than 6th. It had started to become a problem. Pope, being the angel that he was, had taken notice to the frustration even though JJ was never very open about it.

"What's wrong?" Pope had asked him when he saw JJ's fingers pulling at his hair. 

"Nothin'," JJ answered, not even bothering to lift his head to look at Pope. He dropped his hand from his hair and rolled a yellow pencil with a chewed eraser top between his fingers. "This homework is just bullshit."

Pope cringed, for he had not yet picked up on the interest of using swear words. "Why's it... bullshit?" he asked, leaning his head over JJ's shoulder to peer down through his glasses at the worksheet. No one had ever convinced Pope into using swear words, but somehow JJ had warmed him up to it without even pushing very hard. Pope was beginning to do a lot of things that were outside of his comfort zone, or things that got his heart beating fast, all thanks to JJ who was showing him how to live life on the edge. Pope was rather enjoying the thrill of it, and he was grateful for JJ tugging him along to said edge, although he still kept a level head about it. Pope thought.

Normally, Pope and JJ did not complete their homework in the other's presence. Time spent with one another was strictly playtime-- no chores, no homework, no responsibility. But because JJ's grades had begun to slip, he needed to work as hard as possible before they got to be uncontrollable. That meant more time dedicated to his homework, which in turn also meant his time with Pope would be shortened. JJ didn't like that one bit, so he decided that he would just do his homework _with_ Pope.

"It just... doesn't make sense," JJ said, resting his chin in his palm, eyes not straying from the stanza of rhyming words on the sheet before him. 

"Let me read it," Pope suggested, reaching forward to snag the paper before JJ had time to stop him. He skimmed it quickly, and then read over the questions that were presented below. "Look, it's not that hard. What's the poem about?"

"I dunno," JJ mumbled, slyly looking over at Pope through shaggy bangs and lidded eyes. He needed a haircut, but his father's paycheck didn't permit it and Luke couldn't be bothered. JJ had thought about doing it himself a few times.

"You didn't read it?" 

"Kind of," JJ said, lowering his head again. 

Pope furrowed his eyebrows. "Kind of? What does that mean?"

"It means I kind of read it."

"Well, you should probably read it for real," Pope replied, pushing his glasses up on his nose and returning to his own work, "That's the only way you'll get it done."

"Not if you do it for me," JJ offered, leaning up to watch Pope's reaction with a slight, hopeful smile.

With a deadpan expression, he said plainly, "That's just what I've always wanted to do. Your homework."

JJ grinned, and his chest did that floating thing it always did when Pope said something funny. Pope glanced over at him- a smile gracing his face too- and JJ looked away, cheeks hot. He noticed that he was starting to do that a lot.

JJ waited for a moment to let a silence settle over them. Then, in a steady, solemn voice: "I just don't like reading. It's hard, sometimes." The yellow pencil was in his hand again, rolling around and around between his fingers. _The words get jumbled up in my head like alphabet soup._

"Oh," Pope said quietly, staring at him.

JJ didn't like the tension. "Besides, poetry's stupid," he said with a small smirk on his face in an attempt to change the mood.

"I don't think poetry's that bad," Pope replied, scribbling something down in the margin of his homework. He was quiet after that, mulling something over in his mind. 

Suddenly, poetry didn't seem so terrible.

Neither of them said anything else while they continued to work, and JJ finished without any more complaints. Throughout the next week though, Pope could be seen with an array of informative language disorder books of varying size tucked under his arm. And the next week, JJ caught him, on multiple occasions, diligently reading a particularly thick book with a title that contained the word _dyslexia_. The word itself, ironically, was a tad difficult to decipher for him, but after memorizing it in his mind, he looked the definition up on a school computer. 

_Oh._

As much as the possibility embarrassed him, the notion made his heart feel light in his chest. Whatever that meant. 

But Pope never really mentioned it again-- just held more nuggets of knowledge in his brain about JJ. He seemed to understand it though, and he put that understanding to use by helping him, time and time again, as if he delighted in doing it. Pope never got upset when JJ asked him to say a word out loud. He never got frustrated when JJ needed a little more time to read something. He never made jokes about it either, which JJ supposed he was the most grateful for. Pope easily could have made a wisecrack about, could have laughed at him when he wrote felt instead of left or god instead of dog, could have told the kids at school about it. He never did, though. And he supposed that's why he admired Pope so much. Of course, he admired him for many other reasons as well.

For example, Pope never asked to go over to JJ's house. In fact, JJ didn't really ask to go to Pope's house either. He had seen the clean white outside of the Heyward home, but he had never been inside. 

And it was fine, truly. JJ didn't want Pope at his house, didn't want him to see the mess that resided inside his home or the pile of dirty clothes in his bedroom (his father had forgotten to pay the water bill and didn't have enough money to have it turned back on) or the way his father stumbled around at dusk, tripping over a coffee table that had been in the same spot for all of JJ's life.

By the time the bare winter branches of all the trees began to spring new life, JJ had grown a fresh fear involving his father-- one that JJ occasionally tried to convince himself was simply irrational. But perhaps he'd always had this fear, always been walking through life with this fear hidden deep inside the creases of his brain because a logical explanation never presented itself to JJ's young mind.

The thing was... JJ had dreams about his father sometimes-- scary ones where his father's big hands were raining down on him like an avalanche and he spat dirty words at him, ones that he would forget as soon as he woke up all sweaty and out of breath and searching around in the dark for something that wasn't there. 

Less frequently, JJ had dreams about his mother. Not frightening ones, or ones that left him unable to get back to sleep. Dreams where his mother was there with him at home, cooking him spaghetti and meatballs on a spaceship or letting him paint her nails for a princess ball or kissing the top of his head and saying _I love you, babe._

He liked the dreams of his mother much better than he liked the dreams of his father, although they, too, left a sour taste in his mouth when he awoke from them. He missed his mother after all; he missed her so much, even after months and years, even after it was clear that she was never coming back. It wasn't really her leaving that made JJ's stomach turn over in dreadful, anxious butterflies because in all fairness, he doesn't blame her for it. In fact, JJ would have done the same. Instead, what made his throat close up and his eyes swim with fear was the fact that he would never see her again, never hug her again, never hold on to the sleeve of her sweater and press his face to it to stain her familiar scent into his memory again.

As fate would have it, JJ sometimes wished that it had been his father that had left rather than his mother.

Without even needing to ask, because he was good like that, Pope knew it. 

He could tell by the way he talked about Luke, even if it was in some indirect, roundabout way. He could tell because JJ never made 'your mom' jokes even though all the other boys at school did (even though that joke seemed to be right up JJ's alley), and because he never laughed when someone made 'your mom' jokes towards his own mother. He could tell by the way JJ tried to write off his bruises as nothing, or as normal, by coughing out some deflective remark and giving a deceitful grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Well, why don't you just leave?" John B had asked once in a playful voice, clearly throwing it up as a joke.

But JJ didn't think it was funny, even if he tried to smile about it. John B looked away and laughed, mind already three steps away from what he just said. JJ's lips tugged down into a frown. Pope caught his eye, gave him a look that he hoped said more than his mouth ever could, and shook his head soberly. JJ nodded, and returned to Pope's side instead of John B's to walk him to class. John B didn't seem to notice.

John B had been JJ's best and only friend for years, albeit a little... erm, vacant. If JJ approached John B with a problem or a concern, then John B wouldn't waste a second in throwing an arm around JJ's shoulders and comforting him. However, John B never picked up on JJ's bad moods or his cover-up good moods, so he didn't exactly know when to comfort JJ. He knew JJ so well and for so long, that the bruises on JJ's back and the scrapes on JJ's arms didn't even phase him anymore. He never mentioned them. And perhaps JJ was thankful for that because he didn't particularly enjoy talking about it-- but when Pope made a big fuss about JJ, a weightless rushing sensation overtook his belly.

The more JJ hung around Pope, the more he realized that his friendship with John B was different. John B never seriously checked up on JJ, even though he knew JJ needed prompting to explain something involving his feelings or his family. 

It had occurred to JJ that maybe he should move on from John B, but it felt like the most evil type of betrayal to leave him because for so long, John B was the only person that JJ had. Even if it didn't feel like the most evil type of betrayal and it just felt like the right thing to do, JJ wasn't sure if he could go through with it. Not that he wanted to. He loved John B.

"Am I your best friend?" Pope curiously asked JJ when they were throwing rocks at passing cars outside of his father's seafood shop.

JJ thought for a moment, trying to determine the best way to answer without hurting Pope's feelings. "No," he said quietly, having not come up with anything. He chucked a colorful pebble at the wheel of a rich-looking SUV and ducked away when it bounced back in his direction.

"Why not?"

"Because John B's already my best friend," JJ replied as if it were obvious. "He's always been my best friend."

"You can have two best friends," Pope said, dropping the rock in his hand and turning to look at JJ. "You can even have three best friends."

JJ didn't say anything. Just nodded his head and picked up a few more rocks. _Two best friends?_

"If it means anything, you're my best friend," Pope continued, turning away to watch another car pass. JJ didn't throw a rock this time. 

"Is it because I rescued you from that 8th grader?" JJ said softly, smiling at Pope. _If it means anything._ How completely stupid. JJ thought that for all those books Pope reads, he'd be a little bit smarter than that. If it means anything. Ha. It means everything.

Pope grinned, and pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Maybe just a little bit," he answered, giving a quiet laugh. 

JJ threw another rock, and this time the car halted to a stop. The two boys froze, feet super glued to the ground below them, and when the driver's door started to open, they took off running down the street.

But perhaps Pope was right; maybe it's possible to have more than one best friend. And maybe having two best friends is a whole world better than having just one.


End file.
